


Lady of the Lamp

by BarPurple



Series: BarPurple's House of Horror 2017 [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 14:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12234645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: An old lamp casts it light on a new way of looking at the world for Drummond Gold.





	Lady of the Lamp

“How much for the lamp, Jasper?”

Jasper Farr looked up from the receipt he was writing out for Gold with a distracted hum and frowned. His oldest business acquaintance was staring at the brass and teal glass ship’s lantern tucked in the corner of one of the stockroom shelves.

“Really old boy? Never took you as having a liking for the nautical.”

Gold gave an indifferent shrug; “I live in a town by the sea, it’s the sort of thing those with boats or aspirations of boats will buy.”

Jasper chuckled and pointed a long thin finger at Gold; “Oh don’t try that with me, you and I have been dickering for much too long. You asked how much, not about the provenance.”

Gold rolled his eyes; “Yes fine, I want it for myself not for the shop. I think it’ll suit the cabin.”

“Pay me ten dollars and we’ll call it good.”

“What? It’s not a reproduction is it?”

“You insult me old friend,” - Jasper leaned down and plucked a pair of thick gloves from a drawer and pulled them on to his hands before he strolled across the room to pluck the lamp from the shelf, - “This is circa 1916 to 1930, made in the USA, Perkins 8 brass lantern. There is a historical replacement of the burner, but other than that it is in original condition, even the teal glass cover is perfect.”

Jasper eased it away from Gold’s questing fingers. The other man cocked his head but did not complain; after all they both knew that denying contact with a desired object was part of the art of selling, a simple trick to heighten the willingness to part with one’s money. If that was the case why was Jasper bothering? Gold had to ask; “Aye, so why do you only want ten dollars for it?”

Jasper put the lamp down on the table between him and Gold and resumed his seat with a sigh. In the silent moment that followed he slowly freed his hands from the gloves and dropped them on to the table top.

“I’ve sold this thing a half a dozen times now. It’s always come back to the shop.”

Gold raised his eyebrows, but held his tongue. It wasn’t unusual in this business to see the same item a few times, but six was excessive. There was clearly a story here and Gold loved a good yarn. Jasper rested his elbows on the table and tented his fingers as his eyes took on a distant aspect.

“I first acquired the lamp from an estate clearance in your neck of the woods, a speck on the map called Castle Rock. A very normal event, Great Aunt passes away and the distant relatives just wanted the estate dealt with as quickly as possible. You take a job lot and hope there is a diamond in the dross.”

Estate clearances were a gamble that Gold dabbled with from time to time, usually only for a change of pace, or if he had a solid tip about a piece of value, but they weren’t a day to day event for him; he wasn’t set up to deal with a large influx of stock in the same way as Jasper.

“There were some nice pieces, and the lamp was a surprise find in a tea chest. I cleaned it up and sold it quickly for a healthy two hundred and thirty dollars. Less than two months later I was contacted by the relatives of the buyer, who requested my services in valuing the estate of the deceased.”

A common story, customers died all the time; “Old age?”

Jasper shook his head; “Oh no, the man in question was a healthy thirty or so. His death occurred a week after he purchased the lamp, the police investigation took some time, but it was finally ruled as death by misadventure. His hunting rifle had discharged whilst he was cleaning it, although quite how he had managed to shoot himself square between the eyes will remain a mystery.

“I didn’t even realise I had repurchased the lamp until I unpacked a crate of taxidermy the relatives begged me to buy,” – Jasper’s lip curled in disgust, - “Hideous things those hunting trophies, but there is a market for them as you well know.”

The twinkle in Jasper’s eye made Gold consult his mental catalogue; “Ah, that antler and horn mirror?”

Jasper nodded. Gold had a client who adored such things, so he kept an eye out for unusual pieces. The mirror was repulsive to Gold’s eye, but there was no accounting for taste, and he had made a pretty penny from the sale. Jasper cast the lamp a sidelong look and leaned back in his chair.

“The next three times I sold the lamp it came back within a few days. The usual reasons, the colour wasn’t right, my wife hated it, I changed my mind. I gave them a full refund, but couldn’t persuade them to buy anything else instead. I’d go so far as to say they couldn’t get out of my shop fast enough.”

Gold gave him a disbelieving look; “Not like you Jasper. You can normally carry coals to Newcastle.”

“I will assume that is your quaint British way of saying I can sell sand to the Arabs,” – He twirled his hand in acknowledgement, - “Usually I would be the first to agree, but in the case of this lamp’s brief owners my salesmanship failed me.”

Gold eyed the lamp. It looked perfectly innocuous, a nice example of early twentieth century craftsmanship. He could already see it sitting by his favourite armchair in the cabin. The brass had the warm patina of age that begged to be touched. He pulled his hand back before his fingers connected with the lamp, he hadn’t been aware he’d reached out. He covered his momentary confusion by drumming his fingers on the table.

“That’s four sales, what of the rest? Did any of them tell you anything more about the lamp?”

Jasper’s head had tilted, his eyes narrowed on Gold’s wandering fingers. With a small smile he picked up the thread of his story.

“The next purchaser held onto the lamp for six months. I had begun to think that I wouldn’t see it again, until one morning I found the lady curled on my doorstep. She was dishevelled; to be honest it looked as if she hadn’t taken care of herself for some time, and had spent several nights in the woods. She was babbling nonsense about spirits and haunting, claimed that the lamp had kept her imprisoned for months. I was concerned for my life when she started insisting I bought the lamp back from her. I did so and the second the transaction was complete she collapsed,” – Jasper paused and shook his head, - “I’ll never forget the look of peace on her face. I dialled 9-1-1 and the lady was taken to hospital. She had suffered a total mental break apparently, very difficult to care for her because she was terrified of being locked in an enclosed space.”

Gold chuckled; “Correlation is not causation, my friend. The lamp probably had nothing to do with the woman’s mental state, beyond some crazed fixation.”

“I would have said so as well if it had not been for the last purchaser.”

Jasper poked around in the desk drawer for a moment before pulling out a folded newspaper. Gold took it from him and snorted.

“A supermarket tabloid?”

“Just read the article, Gold.”

He scanned the lurid headline of the marked page and had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud. ‘Blazing Ghost Destroys Ship!’ The text was as ridiculously fanciful. The unfortunate boat owner claimed the cause of the fire was a small female ghost who ignited his rum supplies. Jasper softly said; “Look at the picture at the bottom of the page.”

While the rest of the illustrations were artists impressions of the alleged ghost this was a real photograph showing the forlorn boat owner with his charred worldly goods. The lamp was visible at the edge of the image, and didn’t look to be damaged at all.

“It survived a fire? How much cleaning did you have to do?”

“Not a single bit.”

Gold dropped the trashy tabloid onto the table; “That’s a turn of good luck, but to my mind this Jack Sparrow wannabe was careless and made up this ludicrous story to defraud the insurance company.”

Jasper fixed him with a strange look; “Perhaps you are right, but what would this business be without the odd ghost story? Ten dollars and I’ll wrap it for you to take now?”

Gold wasn’t perturbed about Jasper’s brisk return to business; after all they both had appointments to keep and sales to make. He took the carefully packaged lamp and began the drive back to Maine, not sparing another thought for Jasper’s tall tale.

 

The lamp spent a week in the backroom of Gold’s pawnshop as he made the necessary alterations to wire it for electricity. He was a devotee of aesthetics, but fond of creature comforts; reading by the flickering light of an oil lamp would only give him migraines, and in truth the teal glass would not cast the clearest light either way. He had a reading lamp for that, but he wanted this piece in his cabin, nearby as he spent his evenings in peaceful solitude.

His work on the lamp was interrupted by many things; mundane events like people coming into the shop to complain about their loan payments, or rent; the mayor storming in to trade barbs about the latest town council meeting; a desperate few slinking in to pawn what little they had of value to make it through the month. Gold dealt with them all as he had for years, bluntly, coldly, sarcastically and with indifference to threats or pleas. 

It was the other events that were harder to explain.

The missing tools, the broken tea cup, the books moved around. Several times during the course of that week Gold wondered if there was some truth in the tale Jasper had spun about the lamp. When he caught himself asking thin air where his magnifying glass had gone, he laughed at his own foolishness.

“Getting old and a bit forgetful, that’s all.”

The lamp was finished by the weekend. Gold carefully packed it up and loaded it into his caddy for the trip to the cabin. He’d not managed to get away last weekend so was looking forward to the peace and quiet the woods offered. Nobody bothered him at the cabin; the whole town knew interrupting Gold while he was in the woods was more trouble than it was worth. There were rumours that he buried the bodies of his enemies up there, the Sheriff repeatedly said that there was no proof, but the rumour mill cared little for hard facts, and would never have believed that Gold was expecting two visitors for supper on Friday night.

Gold unloaded the car when he arrived at the cabin, a quick check of the cupboards revealed that he was stocked up for the weekend. He smiled to himself and dropped his suit jacket on the back of the couch as he headed out to the deck. He stood and breathed in the crisp lake air. His removed his tie and cufflinks while staring out at the waves on the lake. Both items went into his waistcoat pockets and he set to work on rolling up his cuffs and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. This small ritual of transformation helped ease the stresses of the working week from his tired muscles. He’d never intended to become a beast in business, but he’d discovered early on that for a man of his background a certain hardnosed attitude was expected. Over the years he’d learned to wear his cold, harsh persona as a second skin, but it had always remained a mask that he needed to shed from time to time. It was always easier to slip his skin here surrounded by nature and away from the world. 

He lost track of time watching the clouds skim over the lake, it wasn’t until his cell beeped that he came back to himself and headed back inside to prepare for his guests. The lamp was still wrapped on the side table, for a brief moment he considered plugging it in now, but decided he would wait until he was alone after supper.

The knock at the door came just as he was placing the last plate on the table.

“It’s open come on in!”

Had anyone from town been a fly on the wall they wouldn’t have thought twice about Dove strolling into the cabin. The huge man was Gold’s muscle, nothing strange about him being there. The second person would have raised eyebrows.

“Mother Superior, Dove. Good evening, supper is ready.”

Gold being a welcoming host would have shocked an observer from town into a heart attack.

When Gold came to Storybrooke the hard business man realised that this little fishing town was the perfect place to build an empire. Thanks to the state of the economy it had only taken him a few years to own a large portion of the place and have his fingers in a staggering number of pies. His better nature was not satisfied, there were people here in need and he had the power to help them. Nobody would take direct help from him, his business beast had driven away any chance of trust, but indirectly he could do much if he could find an ally. For a man of little religious belief Mother Superior of the local convent was a strange choice, which is why no one had every suspected that the convent’s charitable work was funded by the Beast of Storybrooke.

These suppers at the cabin followed a standard pattern. Polite conversation, exchanging the odd bit of gossip and then to work. Mother Superior fished a notebook from her pocket as Gold refilled her teacup.

“Thank you. The School Club are running well, we are going to need some new crockery. Sister Astrid had an accident.”

Gold chuckled, he liked the clumsy Sister, she was devoted to her work and good with the children, but she took accident prone to a new level.

“Not a problem, order what you need.”

The Club ran before and after school and provided a safe place for children whose parents work hours would have left them alone otherwise. Meals were provided so no child started or ended the school day hungry, and the nuns and staff were on hand to help with homework, or play games. The fee was a dollar a day, and nobody ever questioned how the nuns could provide as much as they did for so little. 

Dove raised the next problem the town faced; “The cannery is cutting back it’s hours again.”

Gold grinned; “I can’t do anything about the fish stocks, but the library is ready to be renovated, it’s going to take a lot of work. It will keep people employed until the tourist season at least.”

“Speaking of the tourist season the cabins on the far side of the lake are going to need maintenance over winter.”

It wasn’t easy trying to keep a town employed, but the real estate Gold owned need upkeep, cleaning and security. He always paid above minimum wage, provided health benefits and kept the notice period to a bare minimum so when somebody found a better job it was easy for them to leave. These terms might have tipped people off to his charitably endeavours, but the occasional rant about employment laws was enough to keep the mask of Beast in place. Just as with the low price of the School Club, nobody looked a gift horse in the mouth.

The renovation of the library was a huge project that would provide employment for dozens of people. Once it was up and running those numbers would decline, but Gold had plans to offer adult education programs that would allow people to retrain when the floundering cannery finally went belly up. It would also be a place for older citizens to meet, providing company for those who might not have any otherwise.

By the end of the evening the three of them had planned everything they needed to. Over the coming days several people in town would be offered employment, and the convent would receive conveniently timed anonymous donations that just happened to perfectly fit the needs of some families. During the course of the next week Gold would see a brisk trade in people reclaiming their treasures from pawn, or paying off their overdue rent. Not a single one of them would suspect that the cold sneering landlord on the other side of the counter had had a hand in their change of fortune. 

Mother Superior and Dove took their leave before it became too dark. They always approached the cabin via the trail through the woods that passed the grounds of the convent. Dove had joked more than once that should anyone see him in the woods it would only add to the rumours that Gold buried bodies up here, quite what they would make of Mother Superior strolling by his side was best left to the imagination.

In the empty cabin Gold drew in a slow, deep breath and finally fully relaxed. He decided to leave the washing up until the morning and fixed himself a scotch. It took a moment to choose a book from the shelves, book and glass placed on the side table by his armchair he finally unwrapped the lamp. It was a beautiful piece and his work to wire it for electricity hadn’t taken away any of its charm. He bent to plug it in and straightened up with a grunt, might be time to bite the bullet and see if Doctor Whale could recommend anything for his knackered ankle. It was a relief to drop into his armchair. He fussed with the lamp until he was happy with its placement, scotch in hand he flicked the switch and gave a contented sigh as the room was bathed in comforting blue-green light.

He frowned and put his glass down as the bulb burned brighter than it should have, before he could switch it off to check the wiring all hell broke loose.

Every appliance that was plugged in blew, lights exploded in a shower of glass and sparks. Gold swore and threw his arms over his head to protect himself from the shrapnel. The air was thick with the acrid tang of burnt metal and melted plastic, shards of broken glass tinkled to the floor, amidst the chaos Gold felt that there was someone else in the room with him. He forced his eyes open and was stunned to see the cabin still bathed in the blue-green light from the lamp. The biggest shock was the woman stood in front of the fireplace.

“Who the hell are you?”

She turned slowly on the spot to face him. The breath in his chest froze at the sight of her. In the eerie light of the lamp her skin was ghostly pale, her hair a dark shadow that fell over her shoulders and her eyes were an unnatural shade of brightest blue. It had been many years since Gold had shied away from a thrown punch, or an angry word, but under her penetrating gaze he felt fear. He leaned back until his shoulders were pressed against the leather of his armchair.

“You are not the man I thought you were Mr Drummond Gold.”

He blew out a shaking breath, the sense of a noose he’d not been aware of around his neck easing its strangle hold made his stomach clench.

“Who are you?”

He eyes softened and the blue-green light once again felt comforting rather than eerie.

“Where are my manners? My name is Belle.”

She gave him a quaint curtesy that he returned with a nod of his head.

“Where did you come from?”

He flinched as she moved closer, but her goal was not him it was the lamp on the table at his elbow. Her pale fingers traced over the company name embossed on the brass.

“I came from the lamp. I’ve never had so much power before. What did you do to it?”

Belle’s clothing suggested late Victorian, for a brief instant he couldn’t recall if electricity was around during that period. He gave his head a small shake, of course it was, it wasn’t like him to forget such a detail, but considering his current situation he decided not to beat himself up over his mental slip.

“I wired it for electricity.”

He carefully pointed at the wired trailing from the base of the lamp.

“Ah I see now. It’s wonderful, sort of tingly.”

The tall tale Jasper had told him about the lamp’s recent owners swam to the front of his mind; death, madness and property destruction had befallen them. He glanced around the cabin checking that the surge that accompanied Belle’s arrival hadn’t started a fire. There were wisps of smoke curling in the air from the fried electrics, but nothing that suggested a blaze was imminent.

“Are you going to drive me insane, or kill me?”

She cocked her head to one side and gave him a hard look.

“I haven’t decided yet. You are not a nice man in that shop of yours, but out here you are very different. A heart of gold beneath the mask of the beast. If you’ll forgive the pun.”

He laughed, jokes about his surname usually revolved around his dragon-like tendency to horde pretty trinkets and wealth. Her frank admission that she was giving thought to causing his demise was disturbing. He reached for his glass and took a gulp of scotch, not noticing the burn of the alcohol as he took another, and then one more to drain the glass.

Belle watched him patiently with a raised eyebrow.

“You look frightened. I’ve always found that a little knowledge can go a long way to ease fear of a thing, or of a person. Would it help if I told you my history?”

“Yeah, that, that might help.”

If nothing else if she was talking then chances were slim that she would kill him, of course hearing the story of a woman who had appeared from a lamp might be enough to snap his sanity; it was the lesser of two evils, probably.

Belle nodded towards the other armchair. Gold remembered his manners.

“Please sit down. Would you like a drink?”

Offering a spirit a spirit was oddly mundane given his current situation. She politely refused his offer and settled herself in the chair.

“I was born in Paris in 1898. I only have dim memories of my childhood mostly of my mother, a snatch of song, a hint of floral perfume, a ghost of a smile. She died when I was a child and my father could not bear to remain in the city where every turn reminded him of his lost love. We emigrated to the New World for a new beginning. 

"Father was an inventor, obsessed with the modern age, but equally enchanted with the mysteries of the past. He dabbled with the occult convinced that together the modern and mystic could bring mankind to greatness. I had an eclectic education, home schooled mostly by father, I was a rather odd girl, I did not have any interest in parties, or fashion, reading was my true passion; and became my undoing.”

Belle waved a hand toward his bookcases, “I see you are a reader Mr Gold. Are you familiar with ‘The Arabian Nights’?”

“Yes, I am. Aladdin and his lamp springs to mind.”

She gave him a small smile; “Yes, I can see why. Rest assured I am no genie, neither was the spirit I released from the lamp my father purchased from a dealer in obscure artefacts.”

The light dimmed as Belle’s eyes took on a sad cast.

“It was an old thing, the type of lamp that one would expect to see in the hands of the Founding Fathers during a Thanksgiving play. The dealer told father a tale of obscure rituals and black magic, but to me it looked nothing more than a household lamp. Father became distracted with his current invention and the lamp was left to gather dust in a corner of his workshop. It didn’t take long for my curiosity to get the better of me. I lit the lamp and came face to face with the spirit shackled to it.

“His name was Owen, and just as I have observed you from the confines of my lamp, so had he been watching my father and me. He was incensed by father’s lax attitude to my upbringing, he was a firm believer in spare the rod and spoil the child. Rather gleefully he told me of his plans to punish my father for his transgressions. I begged him to take me in his place,” – she snorted a bitter laugh, - “I was a naïve girl wanting to play the heroine like the brave princesses in my beloved books. Owen agreed, but I should have been more careful with my wording, I didn’t replace my father, I replaced Owen as the slave of the lamp.”

Gold turned his eyes to Belle’s lamp, it was nothing like the one her father had purchased. She caught his thoughts and softly said; “Our prisons are of our own making, are they not?”

He wondered what his lamp would look like, a bland modern thing, all sleek practicality; or perhaps an ostentatious over the top creation, showing off wealth and status. He was started out of his mussing as Belle resumed her story.

“I remember nothing of the magic that freed Owen and trapped me in his place. Intellectually I know how the spell was cast, but I have no memory of having experienced it first-hand. My father was broken by my disappearance. Trapped within the unlit lamp I could only watch him neglect his health in his deep mourning. The small signs I could give him brought him only further distress.”

The little mishaps in his shop this past week suddenly made more sense; “You broke the teacup in my shop.”

“Yes, it is a shame, I rather liked that set, but I was angry with the way you were refusing to help that desperate man.”

Gold thought for a moment to recall who had been in the shop before the cup broke; “Ah, young Mr Cooper. The jewellery he was attempting to sell belongs to his mother. His desperation is born from a gambling addiction. It is illegal to buy goods that you know are stolen.”

“And yet you did not report him to the police?”

“No, Cooper has steered clear of poker games for over a year. I hoped that without funds he wouldn’t be able to relapse.”

Belle frowned at him; “You could have been kinder about it.”

Gold gave a dry laugh; “No one would believe it if I tried.”

“You are not the man I thought you were, not at all.”

She had said that before, but this time Gold thought there was something hopeful in her tone, perhaps he wouldn’t die at the hands of a vengeful spirit.

“Is it the curse of that lamp that drives you to, erm, to punish people?”

“I was never a cruel or vengeful woman Mr Gold. There is a madness to seeing people when they believe themselves to be unobserved. I’ve witnessed all manner of cruelties and horrors in the dark of the souls that have owned my lamp. It is a terrible burden to bear, balancing the scales helps.”

Gold’s fingers twisted together in his lap.

“Oh Mr Gold, I think my story has scared you.”

With deliberate effort he forced his hands to relax and rested them on his thighs.

“I’ve never knowingly conversed with a killer before.”

The blue-green light flare with the flash of rage in Belle’s eyes. The fury faded and the light returned to a gentle glow.

“I am a killer. I tell myself that I am dealing in justice by punishing the wicked, but that is poor justification for spilling blood.”

She sounded sad and so very tired. Gold tried to put himself in her place; trapped in a supernatural prison, unable to interact fully with the world unless the lamp was lit, receiving only fear from those that she did appear to, hearing the worst of people. Gold knew a lot about the townsfolk, he made a point to keep informed, but his information came second hand he didn’t see what went on behind closed doors. Belle was trapped in the worst sort of solitary confinement, the world she was separated from always before her, tempting, taunting but mostly untouchable. It would be hell, a torture bound to send a mind spiralling into madness and vengeance. Could she even sleep to escape into her dreams?

“How long can you stay like this?”

He waved his hand vaguely at her hoping she understood the meaning he couldn’t find words for.

“I can manifest physically for as long as my lamp is lit. It sustains me in the way that food and drink does you.”

Manifest, that was the word. Not being able to eat or drink only cut Belle off further from the world. He wanted to do something for her, but couldn’t think of what. As he looked around the room an idea struck him.

“Would you like to read?”

Belle blinked at him, a look of complete surprise on her face.

“Nobody has ever asked me that. I would love to read, thank you Mr Gold.”

He got to his feet and limped across the room to offer her his hand. He felt a crackle of static as her fingers wrapped around his. Once she was standing he realised how small she was, she barely reached his chin and he was on the short side himself. When he led her towards the bookcases that lined one side of the room he realised that the light from her lamp was not bright enough for her to read the titles by.

“One moment.”

He hobbled across the room wondering if he should grab his cane from by the front door, he never bothered with it in the cabin, but it was strange revealing his weakness in front of a stranger. Then again Belle knew him rather well after her week of voyeurism. He left the cane and flicked the switch for the overhead light, hoping that the bulbs hadn’t been blown by Belle’s dramatic appearance. 

She gasped at the sudden infusion of light into the room.

“Oh, I do like this electricity.”

Her fingers danced over the spines of the books that filled the shelves, each one a book he had read time and time again; here in the cabin he kept the well-worn paperbacks, the books he would read repeatedly with fresh pleasure each time because they were familiar, but always offered something new. Belle’s fingers traced slowly up and down a single spine; Gold shivered as if she had touched him. He covered his surprised inhale by shifting forward and craning his head to see which book had caught her fancy.

“Ah ‘The Sword in the Stone’. T. H. White is a little after your time I think?”

“So many of these stories were written after I, after I changed states.”

“You are welcome to read as many as you like. I can bring you new ones as well.”

She gave a soft laugh and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder.

“Are you trying to tempt my curiosity with stories Mr Gold?”

He held her eyes as he ducked his head; “It seems thematically appropriate, don’t you think?”

Belle slid the book from the shelf and turned on her heel, extending her hand to offer it to him.

“To adhere to our theme, will you read to me?”

Another shiver of static shiver danced across the skin of his hand as he took the book from her. He poured himself a scotch before he settled in his chair. The book in his hand was one his mother had bought him; an Armada Lion edition from the 1970’s, its cheap pages oranged with age and holding that smell that only old, well-read books ever have. Gold inhaled the scent deeply and opened the cover. He skipped over the dedication and took a deep breath and began to read.

“On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays it was Court Hand and Summlae, while the rest of the week…”

Gold read for hours; read until the glass of scotch and its refill was long gone; read until his throat was hoarse and the moonlight competed with the blue-green light of Belle’s lamp. He finished the chapter and coughed as he turned the page.

“That will do for now Mr Gold.”

He blinked his tiered, grainy eyes and looked at the lady from the lamp who was curled up in the armchair opposite.

“You need sleep Mr Gold. Would you perhaps leave my lamp lit so I may read some more?”

“Of course.”

He folded the open book around his finger and rose from his chair. The creaking-crack of his ankle cause him to close his eyes in pain. The static crackle of Belle’s touch was the first warning he had that she had crossed the room to aid him. 

“Thank you,” – it was a greater pain to ask, but he couldn’t help himself, - “Have you decided my fate?”

He held her strange bright blue eyes waiting for her to proclaim his life or death. She was right the fear of the unknown was unbearable, if he was going to the gallows he would do so with his eyes open and ready for the noose.

“You are not the man I thought you were Drummond Gold. Sleep easy I will not kill you as you rest,” – her lips curled into a smile, - “For is that not the nature of our tale, my Scheherazade?”

Gold watched as she pulled a ribbon from her hair and slid it between the pages of the book marking the place he had read too.

“We shall finish this tomorrow. Tonight, I shall avail myself of the familiar titles in your collection.”

He bowed his head, “My library is your library. Good night, my Sultan.”

He walked to his bedroom without looking back. The sensation of the noose around his throat was still there faintly, more like the whisper of a lover’s touch than the fatal grip of doom. The lady of the lamp was reading in his cabin while he slept and come the morrow they would talk again and he would read to her again, and he might stave off her judgement for another day. As he slipped into sleep Gold had never felt more alive.


End file.
